


Sins of the Father

by StageOfHearts



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Artoria is a bad parent and they should feel bad, EMIYA is nicer than he acts most of the time, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fran doesn't like humans but Mordred isn't human fight me, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mordred has trouble with their father's gender, Mordred is a good Saber and I love them, Mordred is nonbinary, Mordred/Fran only background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StageOfHearts/pseuds/StageOfHearts
Summary: Mordred gets bored and decides to go train, and accidentally runs into their father when they do. Luckily a certain red Archer is there to help them process what happens.





	Sins of the Father

Life in Chaldea was boring. At least, as far as Mordred was concerned. They didn’t like being confined to such a small space. Of course, outside wasn’t exactly full of good opportunities to explore either. Mostly just a lot of fire. Fire and corpses. Nothing outside of their experience, but not massively interesting either.   
So here they were, sat in their room, idly tossing daggers into a dartboard they’d managed to get their hands on. Well, actually, they’d been offered it after Master discovered they’d just been throwing the daggers into the wall. Even this was getting boring. Screw this. I’m going to go train, at least that’s a bit more interesting.  
And so they went, wandering the halls in their casual clothes, making their way toward the training room. As they approached, they could hear the sound of distant combat from the other side of the door. The training facility was huge, and somehow the inside was a reality marble that continually maintained itself, even with Servants using their full power inside it.  
They opened the door, stepping inside and into their armor as they tried to see who was actually fighting. Inside was a field dotted with ruins, the sun high above, shining down on the two combatants. As soon as the fighters came into view, Mordred froze. One was that red archer. Emiya? They had no idea who that one actually was. But the other.  
“Oh. It’s you.” Artoria stared at them, eyes cold. She straightened up and Excalibur disappeared from her hands. Archer, mid maneuver, straightened up and dematerialized his bow, a curious expression on his face. Artoria turned and began walking away, towards the other exit from the room.  
“Father I-” Mordred began, but Artoria cut them off with a sharp glance.  
“I have no reason to remain here. I am leaving.” And before anyone could say anything else, she disappeared out the other door.   
Archer stood quietly for a second, then cleared his throat. “That was pretty cold.”  
“Watch your tone Archer!” Mordred snapped, angrier than they should have been. They really wanted to kill something now.  
Emiya held up his hands in a placating gesture. “My apologies, I didn’t mean it as an insult.” He leaned back against a crumbling stone wall. “That just seemed like a harsh reaction from Saber, that’s all.”   
“And how would you know?” Mordred demanded, still on edge.  
“Well,” Emiya ran a hand through his hair, then shrugged, “I’ve met Artoria a few times before. Normally she’s a bit… nicer.” He shook his head. “Though I guess everyone has exceptions.”  
Mordred clenched their fist. “You sound awfully fond of my father.” They said it like an accusation, even though they weren’t sure what it was an accusation of.   
Emiya raised an eyebrow at Mordred. “I suppose. I don’t know.” He looked back toward another set of ruins. “In another life, I guess. Now though, I don’t have any particularly strong feelings, beyond admiring her as a strong ally.” He glanced back at them. “I take it you aren’t fond?”  
Mordred bristled, but at the same time, something about this Archer put them a little at ease. So, with a sigh, Mordred dismissed their armor and plopped cross legged on the ground. “It’s complicated, ya know?” They crossed their arms. “There’s a lot involved. I guess… I guess I shouldn’t blame Father for rejecting me, I’m not their real child, just a fake. But…” They stared at the ground, curling their hands into fists. “I can’t forgive them. It’s all I wanted. No matter what anyone says. I didn’t want to be king, not really. I just wanted them to accept me. But they wouldn’t even acknowledge me.” They were getting angry again, starting to shake.   
“A fake?” Emiya turned to level a curious gaze at them. The word seemed to have caught his attention.   
Mordred nodded, bitterness filling their voice. “A fake. Artificial. Hell, everything about me is just a copy of something Father had. My face, my voice, my hair.” They reached out and Clarent appeared in their hand. “Even this, the one sword I have to my name. It’s stolen.” They let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Do you know what they call this blade now?”  
Emiya nodded. “Clarent. The Sword of Peace, as I recall.”  
Mordred eyed him. “Is that so?”  
He sighed. “Well technically yes. But I assume you’re referring to its other name.”  
Mordred nodded. “The Traitor’s Sword. Or even better, the Sword of Cowardice.” They sighed and dismissed the weapon. “I can’t even use the full abilities of the sword. So like I said, a fake.”  
Emiya shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.”  
Mordred glared. “Are you making fun of me?”  
He laughed. “Why would I be?” He slowly swept his hand in front of himself and as he did, three swords materialized in front of him. “Recognize these?”   
Mordred did, and their eyes widened. “Hrunting, Beowulf’s sword. Caladbolg, the Rainbow Sword. And…” They squinted. “How did you get Caliburn?”  
“I didn’t.” He shrugged and picked up Caliburn, tossing it lightly toward Mordred, who caught it with ease. “Look closer.”  
Their eyes trailed over the blade. “Wait. This isn’t the real Caliburn.”   
“Correct. It’s a fake.” Emiya dismissed Caladbolg, but reached down and plucked Hrunting out of the ground. “In fact, all of my weapons are fakes. I don’t have a true Noble Phantasm.” He tossed the sword into the air and it dissolved. Not dismissed like a normal Noble Phantasm, but actually dissolved.   
“How?” Mordred stared at the blade for a moment before it too began to fade away.  
“I’m not a real heroic spirit.” He shrugged. “It’s complicated. But,” he gestured and his shorswords appeared in his hands, “I’m still an Archer, and I’m still good at what I do. Fake or not, a sword is a sword.”   
“I am not a sword, Archer.” Mordred sat up a bit, the response more tired than angry.   
“No. You’re also not Artoria.” Emiya dismissed his blades and walked over to them. “Imitation or not, it’s how you use what you’re given. And you certainly have your own style.” He offered them his hand.   
Mordred regarded him for a moment, then stood, ignoring his hand. “That’s. A nice way of thinking about it, I suppose. But there’s more to it than being an imitation. No matter what I did to stand out, Father never acknowledged me.”  
Emiya considered, then shrugged. “Fathers are tricky.” He smirked. “Hell, you’re not the only one with family here, even if he doesn’t know it.” He shook his head again. “But I guess. Why did you do it?”  
Mordred looked at him suspiciously. “Why did I do what?”  
“Why the rebellion? Why Camlann? How did that happen?”  
Mordred bit their lip, considering what to say. Then, with a heavy sigh, they shrugged. “I wanted Father to acknowledge me. When they wouldn’t even look at me, I just. I got so angry. I was everything a knight was supposed to be. I was strong, I was skilled. I fought for my King at every opportunity. I wasn’t as skilled as Lancelot, sure. I wasn’t as strong as Gawain. I wasn’t a teacher’s pet like Bedivere. But I wasn’t useless! I trained just as hard, if not harder, than all of the other Knights of the Round Table. I took that honor seriously. Before I even knew who I was, King Arthur was a shining example to follow. I admired him more than anyone else. I wanted to be like him. And then I found out I actually was. I was King Arthur’s son. I was ecstatic. I thought he would be too. Isn’t family supposed to be happy to find each other? But. When I told him, he just. Turned away. Wouldn’t even look at me. I didn’t know what to do. Everything I worked for was pointless. My King didn’t see me as fit to be related to him. I had to choose between anger and despair.” They shrugged again, sounding very tired. “I chose anger. I chose hate. If I alone among my father’s creations was unworthy of his notice, then I would tear down everything he built. Consequences be damned. It’s not like I would have lived to see them anyway.”   
Emiya listened attentively, taking a moment to absorb what Mordred said, then shrugged. “At the end of the day, as you are now, if you could go back, would you change anything?”  
“What, like if I could just… be back as a human?”   
“Well, not exactly. If you just went back to being a human, you’d lose a lot of experience.” He mulled over his words. “If you could talk to yourself, in Camelot, before Camlann or anything like that. What would you say? Would you try to stop yourself?”  
Mordred thought about that for a long while. They sat back down again, lost in deep thought. Finally, they spoke. “No. I don’t think I would. Whatever I am now, I am because of those choices. And,” they added, “I still can’t bring myself to forgive my father.”  
Emiya shrugged. “Then don’t.”  
Mordred blinked up at him in surprise. “What?”  
“Don’t forgive Artoria.” He shook his head. “Why should you?”  
They stared, still taken aback, but managed a confused response. “I don’t know. Jekyll says I should, I guess? He says I should do it because it will be good for me.”  
Emiya barked out a laugh. “Jekyll regularly drinks a potion to release his inner demons. I wouldn’t put too much stock in his moral advice.” He spread his hands. “But honestly, a lot of people may tell you have to forgive the people that wrong you,” he crossed his arms, “especially family; but there’s no reason to forgive someone who’s not remorseful. You and Artoria did a lot of terrible things to each other. Hell, you murdered each other. But you don’t need reconciliation. Trust me, getting caught up in the past can be really unhealthy. If you can’t forgive Artoria, and Artoria isn’t trying to change that, it’s not your responsibility to change it for her.” He started fidgeting with one of his shortswords, spinning it slowly on his finger. “Parents are supposed to take care of their children. It’s not your fault that yours didn’t. And it’s not your fault that she’s still neglecting you now.”  
Mordred didn’t generally cry. It was far easier to get angry than let themself be sad. But the kindness of Emiya’s words was shattering any attempt they made to maintain a stoic facade. They sniffed, wiping a hand across their eyes, and sat, legs pulled into their chest, arms wrapped around their knees, and stared at the ground. They couldn’t speak. If they tried, they’d start sobbing.  
Emiya seemed to understand that. “I’m going to the kitchen, once you’re ready, come on by. There’ll be some good food. In the meantime… well, it looks like we have a visitor.”  
Standing in the doorway, as if summoned by Mordred’s distress, Fran nervously paced back and forth. Emiya gestured to her. “You can come in, I was just going. I think Mordred will appreciate your company.”  
Mordred glanced up, a sad, shaky smile crossing their face as the quiet berserker plopped down next to them, her hands full of carefully picked flowers. As Emiya slipped through the doorway, she was dutifully braiding them into the knight’s hair. Mordred didn’t have it in them to protest.   
When Emiya got to the kitchen, a familiar face was waiting. “Master, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised.”  
The red haired woman laughed and winked at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”  
“Artoria storming out, Frankenstein arriving, alone, at the training room despite the fact that she doesn’t train alone, ever. You, being here.” Emiya smirked. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned this.”  
Ritsuka smiled warmly at him. “Oh Emiya, don’t give me too much credit. I didn’t plan Mordred going to the training room while you two were in there. I didn’t even know it was happening till Artoria came stalking down the hall in a huff and wouldn’t tell me why. Da Vinci told me where she’d come from, and why she might have been upset. I sent Fran to make sure Mordred wasn’t alone.” Her smiled changed to a happy grin. “Most of all, I couldn’t have planned for you. I was just trying to make sure Mordred would be ok. I think you may have improved on that hope.”  
Emiya shrugged. “I recognized some things in them.”  
Ritsuka nodded. “That makes sense. It doesn’t negate the good you did.”  
Emiya shook his head. “It really wasn’t that much-”  
She crossed her arms. “Emiya, you did a good thing. That deserves praise.”  
The Archer blushed. “Fine.”  
She grinned. “Good. Now, whatcha cooking?”

**Author's Note:**

> EMIYA has a very complicated relationship with his father, so it made sense to me that he would be able to talk to Mordred about it.   
> Ritsuka also definitely does orchestrate her Servants into helping each other with things like this, it happened in the Santa Jeanne Christmas event.


End file.
